


You May Be Right

by Candiedmothman



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, As One Does, Dirty Talk, F/M, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Margaritaville, Mind Reading, NSFW, Shared Consciousness, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, feed back loop, gettin frisky to Jimmy Buffet is how I wanna do, seggs, things get frisky, we stan Billy Joel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:35:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28585065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Candiedmothman/pseuds/Candiedmothman
Summary: Friday night I crashed your party, Saturday I said I’m sorry. Sunday came and trashed it out again.
Relationships: Dione ( Marvel )/Original Female Character(s), Thanos (Marvel)/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 2





	You May Be Right

A crack of billiards breaking cuts through the soft din of voices in the mostly full bar. Men and women conversing back and forth over every flavor of drinks, cigarette smoke hanging around the rafters in a layer of bluish miasma softening every edge. A jukebox in the corner supplies the modest dancefloor with any imaginable hit from the seventies or eighties. Elton John's piano prowess currently envelopes the interior, setting feet tapping and one of the pool players singing along. Near the back corner, a pair occupy one of the soft leather booths, nursing drinks as they talk. 

Their meetings were a regularity now, every Saturday evening in the same bar that they'd initially met in. Study sessions Jean had taken to calling them. Dione asked so many questions of such a broad scope that it sometimes made the woman's head reel with his breadth of knowledge; it gave her more than enough zeal to pick his brain as well. However, it didn't take long for his focus to single in on the technicalities of the woman's telepathy. Even from their first encounter, the magnetic force of it brought them back together time and time again. 

Each question Jean answers with candid ease. Swirling the last of her drink around the bottom of the whiskey tumbler in an amber-gold whirl, she tries not to crack a smile at his latest inquiry. Everyone always wanted to know the same things. How did her influences on others work? Giving an inarticulate motion of her hand, the woman replies,

❛ Thoughts are nothing more than sensations—hot, cold, pain, pleasure. Skin on skin contact is like a feedback loop. If I'm feeling good and touch you, you'd feel the same sensations or vice versa. It can be... an intense experience. Sex is a different animal entirely. ❛ Lifting a shoulder in a half shrug, she finishes the last of the whiskey and laments the lack of buzz it gives her. Whatever mutagen that had bestowed the powers she had, took away lasting effects of alcohol; twenty minutes tops of that warm fuzziness.

❛ I'll have to ask for a demonstration sometime. ❛ Dione replies smoothly, and Jean stares at him. Blinking, the woman's lips part slightly as if to give a reply before she closes them again, her mind skipping like a needle on a scratched record. Attempting to conjure up the bluster that she knows would be the appropriate response, Jean's apprehension disappears in a heartbeat. 

❛ I could give you one now, ❛ she suggests, a bit stunned that she'd said it out loud. Of course, it would be a lie to say that her mind hadn't wandered during their meetings. Or after, for that matter. Watching the slight raise of his eyebrows accompanied by a smile that quirks the edges of his mouth, Jean's brain checks out wholly. Leaning her elbows onto the table, she gives a gesture toward the hallway next to the crooning jukebox.

❛ There's a storage room. Down the hall, just before the bathrooms. If you're serious, that is? ❛ There's an intensity in his face that sends her mind swimming, none of it being from her drink. Watching as Dione leans back into the embrace of the worn leather booth, that usual radio static of others' thoughts dying to a dull roar as her mouth goes a little dry. Not wanting to spoil a surprise for herself, Jean keeps from reaching out for his thoughts, instead waiting for a genuine response. Feeling the dragging pulse of anticipation hit a chord along the length of her spine Jean presses her thighs together beneath the table.

❛ Go, I'll buy us a few minutes. ❛ Dione provides guilelessly while pushing his glass away and standing, trailing the back of his knuckle along the length of Jean's arm before walking away. The electricity of his touch has the woman doubting whether she was the one with the touch-based abilities, goosebumps still across her arms as she too stands. 

The storage room's interior is bathed in murky saffron light coming from a narrow porthole window on the swinging door; Jean does her best not to trip as she finds a place to wait. Snuggling herself between a set of large shelves ladened with alcohol bottles and various dry packaged goods, she ensures that if anyone were to pop in, she'd be able to hide with relative ease. Resting her back along the cool painted brick wall, Jean can feel the rumble of the pipes within in addition to a faint cardiac pulse from the jukebox's music.

A minute passes, turning into two, then three. Jean fishes her cellphone out of her pocket with a soft, defeated sigh and begins to flick through missed text messages, nothing of immediate interest. Then as if being punched in the back, the music from outside roars to life along with the drunken cheer of nearly the entire bar. Heart hammering in her chest, Jean isn't ready for the door to be nudged open, flooding the room momentarily with jaundiced light. 

Scrambling to duck behind a large can of tomatoes, the woman hears Dione quietly call out her name. Biting her tongue against a remark, Jean sticks out her hand from her hiding space to wave him over. Door falling closed and blanketing them in velvet darkness. She can't help the quiet scoff of a laugh as he joins her in the small hideaway.

❛ Is that Billy Joel? ❛ she asks with a grin, seeing the expression reflected in his face as two warm hands come up to cup Jean's jawline, tilting her head back to look up at him.

❛ Mhm, ❛ Lips meeting in a tentative kiss, her hands come up to wind into the fabric of his shirt, greedily pulling closer. Dione's calloused fingers slide back into Jean's hair as her mouth moves against his own, an effusive electricity humming wherever their skin met. He silently muses that this must be what she meant by a feedback loop, ghostly sensations echoing his own. Experimenting with this knowledge, his fingertips glide down the curve of Jean's neck. Rewarded with a soft gasp, Dione's tongue glides across Jean's, relishing the way she shivers, that unseen voltaic energy hooking its claws into him. 

Pulse rushing in her ears, the woman feels the edges of her thoughts melding with his, sensations slotting into one another like puzzle pieces, amplifying even these breathless open-mouthed kisses. Hands wandering across the plane of Dione's chest and stomach Jean finds the hem of his shirt, working it up inch by inch so her fingers can map out the feel of warm skin beneath her touch. A low groan builds in the man's chest as Jean's nails leave light lines down his lower back, pulling him flush as a leg hooks the back of Dione's calf. 

❛ You weren't lying about touch being a different experience. ❛ Voice rough already as the wet heat of his mouth moves on to leave marks across Jean's throat, stubble scratching the sensitive skin. Dione's hands break their idleness by descending along the curves of her body beneath the increasingly cumbersome clothing; this isn't a deterrent as palms knead her breasts through the thin fabric. Thumbs brushing across the hardening peaks of her nipples, Dione's teeth nip before sucking a faint mark into the woman's neck. Jean's mind fizzles for a moment, nails biting deeper into his lower back as the mental connection they share gives her a few glimpses of just precisely what he would do if they weren't in some storage room. A deep familiar ache wraps it's fire around the woman's spine as she swallows a muffled whine. 

Using his knee, Dione gently coaxes Jean's legs a bit further apart, lazily grinding against her, shuddering from the fireworks of sparks that dazzle through their intertwined consciousness. Hands mapping the muscles of his back are a far away distraction as his questing touches move lower and lower down her body. Finding the space between the hem of Jean's shirt and the button of her pants, Dione teases his fingertips just under the edge, feeling the little anticipatory press of her hips into his touch. 

A half-complete thought of throwing his shirt to the floor floats through his mind on a voice that isn't his own, before a following twinge of disgust that the floor is probably dirty. Dione can't help the grin against the side of Jean's neck, and she huffs out a quiet laugh.

❛ You know it's true, floor's probably gross. ❛ She mumbles while continuing to savor the feel of his skin beneath her palms. Nodding in agreement before pressing in for another kiss that wastes little time before deepening, Dione groans deep in his chest. Easing an arm around the curve of Jean's lower back to hold her in close as the catch on her pants is undone, Dione's hand smoothly pushes past the zipper and soft lace of her underwear. 

A touch that's only meant to tease parts Jean easily, the sound she makes muffled thankfully by his lips. The hand wrapped around her side massages, soothing against the woman's ribs while her hands leave stinging lines down Dione's shoulder blades, trying to ground herself. Rubbing lazy circles around and around, not entirely putting enough pressure where she needs him, has Jean's thoughts fraying around the edges, and Dione can feel it. A heat with teeth that claws along the lengths of his nerves, allowing him to feel exactly what his teasing accomplished. Overwhelming, the man breaks the kiss and breathes raggedly with his forehead still pressed to hers. A soft tutting noise as the sparks of her thoughts beg him to touch her properly, breathlessly chuckling; his voice comes out hoarse.

❛ So needy. I can hear you begging for more, and I've barely touched you yet, cariño. How long have you been thinking about me doing this? ❛ Angling his hand differently, the touch varies effortlessly as if reading the ebb and flow of her wordless wants that electrify that connection between them. Jean swallows dryly, wanting to be a little more agitated with herself that she's coming apart so quickly in his hands but can't seem to find the edge. Nuzzling his face against the crook of her shoulder, Dione finds himself rocking against her with every pulse of molten thoughts that engulf his mind like a silken flame. Boxing Jean deeper into the corner, his words are like fire against the woman's neck as he continues.

❛ Though, crammed into a storage closet in the back of some packed bar probably wasn't the first place that you'd imagined, is it? No, but I'll make it up to you. Your body deserves proper exploration, don't you agree? ❛ Dione questions hotly against the side of Jean's neck as he finally finds that combination he'd been looking for through the frazzled tangle of Jean's mind. Nails leaving sharp half-moon marks in the meat of his shoulders, the woman's hips work against the press of his fingers with a myriad of desperately quieted sounds. Pulse pounding in her ears; she can almost hear the very drunken revelry to whatever song he'd chosen reverberating through the wall. Dione's teeth marking her shoulder once more brings Jean tumbling back into the moment, as his leg nudges her feet apart a bit more and those long fingers dip down, curling into her with surprising strength. 

Pulse thundering through her chest so hard that Jean is sure that Dione can feel it; the woman clamps her lips so tight against the desperate moan that tries to break free. Teetering there on the edge of her orgasm as the heel of his hand grinds incessantly against her clit Jean writhes back against his long fingers. A muffled string of pleas falls past her lips as a hand comes up to tightly wind into Dione's hair earning herself a low growl. The arch of her back presses them closer as Jean's muscles tense in anticipation, breath coming out in ragged gasps.

❛ Not much longer now — Look at me. ❛ Not sure if he means about her, the song, or himself, Jean tilts her head back against the wall and meets Dione's gaze. His hair is a bit damp around the temples, and those brown eyes glitter in the darkness with hungry intensity. The stubble dusting his jaw that had been scratching the woman's cheeks and neck sends a shudder through her as the unabated thought of his face between her thighs instead of his fingers blooms in her mind. Mouth quirking in a half-smile, Dione leans in for a kiss, mumbling against her lips.

❛ Later, I'll enjoy my dessert later, cariño. ❛ A dizzying chain of fantasies fell one after the other like dominos as Jean's body coiled tighter against the unrelenting coax of his hand. Shuddering before having half the sense to crush her mouth to his in a desperate kiss, Jean's body clenches tight, a dam somewhere within smashing open. Flooding the connection between their minds with a constellation of fireworks and stars, Jean claws at Dione's back her want to scream out, warring with the need to stay quiet in this cramped storage room that smelled like liquor. It's by virtue of his arm wrapped around her that Jean remains standing. 

Squeezing the woman tight against the wall as Dione's nerves are blinded by the abrupt overwhelming power of her climax, he barely feels the feather-light kisses that find the edges of his mouth, the line of his jaw, his racing pulse. It isn't until she's speaking with breathless intent that his mind seems to dial back into the moment. Able to feel the full crest of her pleasure, Jean senses the neglected ache from him curling around the back of her mind. Prying her hands from the stinging skin of Dione's shoulder blades, Jean cups his face in her hands, forcing the man to look at her.

❛ Fuck me— ❛ The unspoken I need you, going between them in the intensity of her gaze just before their lips meet again with that smoldering spark. It's a small feat of shuffling clothing and half-hearted kisses to sate the gnawing urgency while outside, the song rises to a roar with the collective voices of the bar erupting in a cheer as it ends. Glancing at one another for a heartbeat, Jean nearly laughs as the next song starts. Jimmy Buffet, wonderful. The accompanying clamor of excitement at another crowd favorite begins, giving them another few precious minutes that wouldn't be wasted. 

Reaching out and fisting Dione's shirt in her greedy hands, Jean swallows a startled noise as he hauls her up bodily, settling the woman's thighs around his hips as he leans his weight into her. Grinding his hardness purposefully against the slick juncture of her legs, Dione curses harshly as his hips stutter. Hands digging harshly into the muscles of Jean's thighs, they both very well know that there will be bruises. That unrelenting closed circuit between the two recycling the same pleasure back and forth, amplifying each touch and brush of skin. It has the frazzled cusp of Jean's nerves screaming for more, feeling how much he ached for his own release. Readjusting her grip on his shoulders, Jean grazes her nose along the side of his neck.

❛ Dione, please, plea— ❛ not getting the chance for the second plea, Jean's voice is stolen as he sinks into her with one fluid thrust. The sudden flash of ecstasy so bright it has Jean sobbing out his name as her muscles cinch down around him. Feeling the flex of his back as a desperately rushed pace is set, Jean digs her heels into the curve of his spine and writhes back against the thrusts. Those same molten waves of bliss roll through their joined minds, and she can barely breathe around the intensity of it as it consumes and sets fire to every nerve and thought. Bruising the undersides of her thighs as he grasps at her for dear life, Dione growls deeply against the crook of her throat, the heat of his breath only adding to the dampness across Jean's body. 

❛ Fucking hell. ❛ He snarls out none too quietly, oblivious to the boots that thud down the hallway toward their storeroom. Jean's hand scramble in that moment and press tight against his mouth, a stuttered shushing passing her lips as he continues that rough gallop toward that creeping euphoria. Dione's breath huffs loud and hot through his nose across Jean's fingers threaded over his mouth, the low strangled groan vibrating against her palms. Head leaning forward to press his forehead to Jean's, he makes no move to remove her hands. Grip shifting to cup the back of her knees, forcing the woman's legs up and further apart, he hits that spot deep within that makes the world erupt into stars. Her legs shaking in his hands. 

Garbled strings of whispered breathless curses and pleas flow past Jean's lips as her back arches toward the sharp coil of pleasure sinking its teeth around her spine. Toes curling inside her shoes, the pace abruptly shifts from desperate to a deliberate slow roll of his hips against her own. That fluid ease of his cock in and out of her has all semblance of thought dissolving in Jean's mind as her fingers release around his mouth and fist in his hair to pull into a ravenous kiss that has both their minds reeling. Burying himself to the hilt and pressing her tight between the wall and the firmness of his body, Dione feels her quake with the combined force of both their climaxes. Razing every nerve in its wake in an electric wildfire, the circuit between them makes her all too aware of that warm rush filling her up. Catching his deep rumbling groan around the hammer of her pulse and the ringing in her ears, Jean emits a choked whine in response.

Blinking open bleary eyes that she hadn't remembered, closing Jean pants for air, crushed against the wall and Dione's weight. Loosening the harsh grip she'd had in his hair, she feels the man against her shudder. A few breathless words muttered that the woman doesn't quite catch. Outside, the last few bars to Margaritaville are nearly screamed at the top of every patron's lungs.


End file.
